


Christmas and Cupcakes

by doorstepofdoom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:57:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorstepofdoom/pseuds/doorstepofdoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe getting stuck in the Hogwarts kitchen with the Head Boy wasn't Hermione's smartest plan. But she could always blame the Firewhiskey.</p><p>2012 Secret Santa Fic Exchange - gift for our lovely saviour, Bee</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas and Cupcakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrightneeBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightneeBee/gifts), [Tomione_Forum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomione_Forum/gifts).



> As a thank you for writing a story when someone bailed on our exchange.
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Christmas and Cupcakes**

_Crash!_

Hermione winced as the table toppled over. The glass top hit the stone fireplace and immediately shattered. On the floor, Ron was growling in pain. Behind her, Fred and George burst into peals of laughter.

“That’s the spirit! Looks like Ronniekins _is_ part of the family after all!”

Hermione sighed. How had she ever gotten into this mess?

It had all started… well, it had started a few thousand year ago when Mary had wandered into that stable- no, she couldn’t really blame Jesus’ birth for this. Neither had he been responsible for the Weasley twins sneaking Firewhiskey into the Gryffindor common room. So, as usual she blamed everything, from the empty bottles cluttered on the floor to her increasingly bad headache on the sole person responsible for the state of the universe.

“Ron!”

The second youngest Weasley looked up, blinking, no doubt trying to identify her clearly. He had drunk enough to put even Grawp to sleep.

“He-he-Herminy?”

The aforesaid girl resisted the urge to roll her eyes in frustration. ‘Herminy’. He even sounded like Grawp.

“Look at you! You’re supposed to set an example for the others. And you’re passing out on the floor! Drunk!” She drew out the word as if it physically pained her to do so. But she really was unable to understand why anybody would ever get drunk on purpose. Being willingly out of your mind? Disgusting.

“I can’t believe you! Be a little responsible! You’re a-”

“Hermione, leave the poor guy alone.”

She spun around, furious, and her eyes landed on the last member of the Golden Trio. The Christmas party was still going on behind him, in full swing. The tables were laden with Christmas snacks and crackers, courtesy of Fred and George. However, Hermione didn’t trust them one bit. A corner of the common room was pitch-black, where the cracker of a poor first year had exploded into a shower of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

All the Gryffindors, in her opinion, had gone mad. They were dancing, screaming, shrieking, and singing terribly off key. She briefly wondered when the common room had started resembling a rave. And, as prefect, and the only sober person around, it was up to her to stop this insanity. Well, not _sober_. She had had a little Firewhiskey, but only because Ron had forced it down her throat. She, unlike everyone else, wasn’t an idiot. And she was _responsible_.

Noticing her narrowed gaze, Harry held up both hands.

“Come on, Hermione. It’s Christmas! Lighten up. Besides, Dumbledore allowed us to have a party. Said its tradition.”

“While it might be tradition to hold the annual Christmas house parties, Firewhiskey is not allowed.”

A silky, smooth voice wafted to her ears. Uh oh. Her eyes reluctantly slid over to the immaculate, black-haired Head Boy who had now joined them. She glared at him.

“Riddle.”

The name was spoken by both Harry and Hermione simultaneously, but it couldn’t be more different. Hermione’s voice was laced with venom, whereas Harry’s was beseeching.

“Listen, I know it’s against the rules, but F- well, someone snuck it in, and then the students just-”

Riddle laughed.

“I know, Harry, I know. Don’t worry about it. Just get everybody to hide the -err- proof. I won’t snitch.”

Harry’s eyes widened comically, and Hermione would have smiled, had she not been too busy staring daggers of annoyance and dislike straight through the black haired boy.

“These things happen every year. You should see the other common rooms. Everybody knows. That’s why I’m patrolling and making sure something wrong isn’t going on. Well, that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. It doesn’t matter, really. Professor Dumbledore believes that the students should be allowed their fun on Christmas.

“Oh. Right.”

Hermione almost snarled. He was Head Boy! It was his job to make sure the students toed the line. And yet, he was- he was- he was helping them get away with it! The Headmaster’s trust was entirely misplaced. It was looking at him that she wished Percy Weasley was always at Hogwarts to properly fill out the role of Head Boy. She had talked to Percy about this. Even he agreed.

Riddle seemed to have noticed her outrage, and simply chuckled.

“Heerrminnie…”

Behind them, Ron was once again struggling to pronounce her name. Hermione turned around, ready to lash out at him.

“I want, I want the…” he stumbled over his words, and then, seemingly having decided not to bother, pointed at a cupcake cradled in the hands of an equally drunk dean Thomas. Dean, unfortunately, noticed.

“Mine! Mine! Mine!” he screamed hysterically. Everyone winced. He sounded like nails on a chalk-board, like chairs dragging on the floor, like every detestable screechy sound in the world.

“My cupcake,” Ron growled.

“You – you wanna mess? C’mere, I’ll, I’ll,” his pitiful attempts to get off the floor ensued.

_Smash!_

At the other end of the room, a lamp shattered, courtesy of two annoying, red headed twins. Hermione wasn’t even sure whether they were actually drunk, or whether they had just decided to join in the chaos.

Ron and Dean were still trying to start a duel to see who the cupcake would belong to. And the infuriating Head Boy just stood beside her, clearly amused.

“Both of you, stop it now!! Look at you! You should be ashamed of yourselves! Fighting over- over a cupcake!”

Both Ron and Dean blinked several times, trying to make sense of her words in their heads.

“But it’s a very special kinda-”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, you two! I’ll go get more cupcakes!”

“But this one-“

Rolling her eyes, Hermione snatched the cupcake from Dean’s hand and pushed it towards a very startled Harry.

“It’s his cupcake now! So stay put, I’ll go get both of you more.”

She marched out of the room.

                                                               ******

The noise made by her shoes echoed loudly across Hogwart’s stone corridors. No student was around, they were all celebrating- no, getting drunk and then annoying their friends.

Occupied with her thoughts, Hermione almost walked straight into a suit of armour. Almost. Instead, she found a hand at her waist, and another covering her forehead, protecting it from injury in case she had continued walking and gotten a face full of cold, hard metal.

“You really should be more careful, Hermione. What would Hogwarts do if its most diligent prefect had to be admitted to the Hospital Wing? I’m not sure it would survive.”

The face full of metal sounded perfect at the moment.

Hermione took a deep breath and pushed him away from herself.

“Why would Hogwarts be worried when it has an oh-so-hardworking Head Boy who makes sure the school goes on in perfect order?”

Herm turned to glare at him. Tom smirked.

“True. But I doubt even my dedication would hold a candle to yours.”

She snarled. “Your dedication?  Obviously something nonexistent couldn’t hold a candle to anything.”

Tom cocked his head to one side.

“Why, I’m hurt. It isn’t easy being Head Boy, you know. It takes a lot of hard work. Why do you automatically assume the post means nothing to me?”

Snorting, she turned around and continued on her way to the kitchens. To her dismay, she heard footsteps behind her.

“Why are you following me?” Her self restraint was at its end. Shouldn’t he be off making sure other rule breaking students got off scot free?

Tom came to a stop beside her.

“I can’t be a good Head Boy if my diligent prefect is off trying to prevent the Great Wizarding War of drunken Gryffindors and let her off without protection.”

Clenching her jaw, Hermione sped off towards the direction of the kitchen, a content Riddle trailing behind her.

                                                                   ******

The thoroughly tickled painting swung open, and Hermione stepped through the entrance to the kitchen. Turning, she saw Tom staring questioningly at her.

“What? Do I need to give you an invitation?”

He raised an amused eyebrow.

“I was just wondering how the law abiding Gryffindor knew the entrance to the kitchen, as well as how to open it.”

Hermione stalked furiously into the kitchen, making up her mind determinedly never to talk to the manipulative prat. It’s not like knowing the location of the kitchen was against the rules! Then again, if she told him, he would probably tell her he never said it was anyway.

She looked around her. The five great tables had been moved towards a corner of the gigantic room. More stoves and ovens were present, presumably to help prepare the great Christmas feast. The elves were nowhere to be seen. Since it was almost midnight, they were probably in bed to conserve energy needed for the hectic day tomorrow. The huge fireplace was crackling merrily, and it filled the room with warmth and orange light.

As she was thinking, a house elf appeared in front of her.

“What can Binky get Miss Hermione today?”

Hermione blushed. If it wasn’t bad enough that Riddle knew she knew about the kitchens, he now also knew she came here often.

Truthfully, it was her safe haven, away from homework and Ron and prefect duties. She could just sit here, relax, and have a nice hot mug of cocoa. It reminded her of home. Thankfully, riddle didn’t say a word, though she could just feel the smugness radiating off of him.

“That’s all right, Binky. Do you have any more Christmas cupcakes left?”

Binky’s face fell.

“Oh yes, Miss Hermione. But the other students came and took the last of them.”

Almost instinctively, Hermione glared at Riddle. Somehow, to her, this was his fault. He just looked back innocently at the girl and elf. When nobody moved, he cleared his throat.

“Well, can’t you make more, err- Binky?”

Binky nodded.

“Oh yes sir, Binky will just-“

“Who the hell do you think you are? She isn’t a servant! Go make your own damn cupcakes if you want! Being Head Boy does not give you the right to turn the rest of the castle into your slaves!” Hermione snapped. How dare he? The elves were supposed to be a free race! Trust him to act like a complete Slytherin.

Tom blinked, clearly taken aback.

“Calm down. I was only asking for the good of your drunken friends. And it’s her job.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or am I the only person in this castle who, according to you, is supposed to do his job?”

Hermione flushed and looked away. Tom’s gaze bore into the back of her head, making her extremely fidgety and guilty. The victorious gleam in his eyes and the telltale scarlet colour in her cheeks weren’t helping the situation. But she couldn’t let Binky be taken advantage of due to her own personal problems.

“Err… Binky, that’s alright, I-I’ll make the cupcakes myself.”

Binky’s eyes widened, and she seemed to want to protest, but a warning look from Hermione silenced her. She pointed towards one of the cupboards and stoves.

“All the desert ingredients is there, Miss Hermione.”

“Thank you. You can go now.”

There was a crack, and Binky, with one last worried glance, disappeared. Now all alone in the kitchen with Riddle, Hermione braced herself for whatever she had no idea would come.

The Head Boy let out an incredulous laugh.

“Hermione Granger, Gryffindor perfect prefect, is going to bake cupcakes? This I’ve got to see.”

“Stop talking,” Hermione grumbled, before making her way to the kitchen counter. “I don’t force wrongly enslaved house elves to carry out my every whim.”

His signature smirk found its way to his face again as he watched her pull random ingredients out of the cupboard.

“You’re worrying about how you treat the house elves after you abuse and discredit the sad little Hogwarts Head Boy who spends his nights roaming corridors to make sure the other students sleep safely?”

Hermione bit her lip, and focused on pulling flour and sugar out of the cupboard and pouring it in antique wooden measuring cups. It was true, she gave him a lot less credit than he deserved. It was him, after all, who had drawn up the revolutionary new patrolling schedule which used only four prefects for the whole castle. He also made sure there was proper professor-student communication and that the student body’s complaints always reached the headmaster. She grudgingly had to admit, he was a very successful Head Boy. Even though the Head Girl was utterly useless, Hogwarts was at its peak. But it was his _attitude_ which infuriated her!

It was like he didn’t even care about what he was doing. He never took notes in class, yet his grades were the best in the school’s entire history. For every test and examination, she would spend all night fussing and studying, and look like Frankenstein’s bride by the next morning. And he just managed to show up every morning with immaculate hair and not a care in the world. His life wasn’t limited to studying either. He had a great social circle, and all the girls (even some boys) drooled all over him. Whereas she was hard pressed just to find enough time to talk to Harry and Ron at meals. She worked so hard to keep her position, and he would just be his nonchalant self, but _still_ manage to earn praise from every professor.

She snapped out of her thoughts as she felt a long, slender hand over hers. Jumping back, her head hit the shelf behind her, and she narrowly stopped herself from screaming. Tom just looked at her, thoroughly amused.

“Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?” She hissed, rubbing the back of her head.

“Actually, I would say I succeeded. It was overflowing.”

Still disoriented from the painful throbbing of her skull, she tried to process his words.

“What?”

Tom’s smirk grew impossibly larger. Honestly, was that man ever not smirking? He had started to resemble the Cheshire Cat. Though she had to admit, it did make him look extremely… hot.  She shook her head to rid it of the onslaught of disturbing thoughts.

“What?” she repeated.

“Nothing,” he drawled, “I was just wondering what on earth would distract the perfect Hermione enough that she would make even the slightest mistake.”

Furrowing her brows, she looked down to see sugar spilt all over the counter, and on the floor.

Gasping, she squatted down and started throwing handfuls of the sugar into the bin. She could feel Tom’s eyes on her.

“Let me guess, you expect me to call a slave- sorry, _elf_ , here so that this mess can be cleaned up, because it certainly isn’t the job of the almighty and supreme wizarding race?”

Tom continued to stare at her with an unfathomable expression, before replying.

“Umm… not really. I was just wondering whether you were, in fact, part of said ‘supreme wizarding race’.”

Hermione stood up, fuming.

“Oh, I get it. Just because I’m a Muggle-born you don’t even consider me a witch? I’m sick of you Slyth-”

Waving away her words, he pulled out his wand. With a flick of his wrist, the spilt sugar vanished.

“Then I’m sure, being a Muggle-born, you’re able to perform magic?”

Hermione started to resemble a tomato. He had just been talking about using magic to clean up the mess. Hiding her face in her robes, she turned her back to him.

“Yes, well, it’s good to do things the Muggle way sometimes.”

The Head Boy snorted.

“I’ll take care of the measurements,” he instructed. “You go do everything else.”

Guilty for blaming him wrongly so many times, she complied. They worked quietly for a few minutes.

Hermione looked at Tom. She felt bad for having made so many wrong assumptions about him. But really, he seemed quite nice, despite being a Slytherin. He was biased at all towards elves or Muggleborns. She felt like an idiot.

Well, she wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing. She would make it up to him.

Tom looked sideways at her questioningly, and Hermione realized she had been staring at him for a long time.

“Umm… sorry,” she stammered. “I was just… preoccupied… with things.”

A glint of amusement entered his eyes.

“Oh? Yes, that happens at times.”

He kept staring at her with a predatory gleam.

She shuffled, and focused back on the cupcake batter. She picked up a spoon and was about to start mixing it manually before remembering, as Tom had pointed out, that she was, after all, a witch.

Whipping out her wand, she muttered a spell she had often observed Mrs. Weasley performing.

The spoon jumped up, and vigorously started beating the mixture. Tom nodded appreciatively.

Suddenly, she burst into a fit of giggles.

“The amazing Tom Riddle, star Slytherin and Head Boy extraordinaire, is making cupcakes.”

A smile reached Tom’s lips.

“The things I do to ensure the welfare of the world.”

While she finished preparing the icing, Tom sat down by the fireplace. He pulled out a book, and started to read.

As she kept observing him, he raised a hand and pushed his longer-than-average hair out of his eyes.

“You know, Hermione, usually people don’t take too kindly to being stared at like they’re on exhibition in a zoo.” He paused. “I don’t, at least.”

She blushed red.

“Stop doing that!” she blurted.

He looked up.

“What?”

“Stop acting so damn perfect!”

“ _What?_ ”

Now that it was out, she might as well explain.

“You’re too effortless! Everything you do is all ‘uncaring’ and ‘cool’ and whatever. You don’t do any hard work. But you’re still on top! Even right now! You didn’t even look up but you go all ‘I can see you Hermione’. It’s unfair to the rest of the human population of the world!”

He stared at her blankly for a whole minute, before bursting out laughing. Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Y-you… I’m… _too perfect_?” he choked out.

She glared at her feet. It sounded kind of stupid once it was out of her mouth.

“Maybe.”

Still laughing, he beckoned her towards him.  Although embarrassed, she went and sat next to him in front of the fireplace.

“Stop laughing,” she mumbled. “It’s not that funny.”

“Let me get this straight: you’ve been torturing me and being cruel to me since forever just because you think I’m ‘too perfect’?”

She winced. Maybe she hadn’t been that inconspicuous in her attempts to gain her private vengeance.

Hermione hugged her knees. This part of the kitchen had a wooden floor, so it wasn’t that cold. They were also sitting only a short distance away from the kitchen fireplace, which made it warmer.

It felt good, considering Hogwarts was practically snowed in.

Tom had stopped laughing by now.

“Well, I’m so sorry Hermione. I didn’t know what a toll my ‘perfection’ was taking on you.”

She stretched her arms, trying to forget what a fool she had made of herself.

“Why are you still here anyways? Even the cupcakes have been made. They’re just cooling.”

He turned his dark eyes to her.

“Does my presence trouble you so much?”

Hermione started. “No! No, I was just wondering why you would be here. I mean, you can leave. Not like I want you to leave, I just- wait, I don’t want you to stay either- no, that came out wrong!” She took a deep breath. “I’ll just stop now.”

Tom, rather uncharacteristically, smiled.

“Please keep going. I like listening to you talk.”

Hermione looked down, embarrassed.

“I know. I talk a lot. Ron and Harry don’t hesitate in telling me. Not like _Ron_ should complain, though. I’ll just hush up, now.

Tom tilted his head to one side.

“Ron really shouldn’t be one to talk. And it’s alright. If you have something to say, you should say it. Iy isn’t healthy to keep everything bottled up. Besides, its rather… charming.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“Charming?”

“Well, you might not have noticed, with my _perfection_ and all, but I’m a man of few words. I like to listen.”

She felt very exposed under his scrutinising gaze.

“Well, I normally just boss people around and stuff... did you know that the original creator or breeder of the Basilisk is Herpo the Foul?”

Tom’s Cheshire smile widened.

“I did indeed.”

For some reason, the low light proved by the fireplace, and Tom’s closeness, made her extremely nervous.

 “In 1792, a cockatrice broke loose during a Triwizard Tournament task and injured the Heads of all three schools, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts.”

“I’m aware.”

“And that the name Malfoy translates into ‘bad faith’?”

“I know…”

And that the use of House Elves in Hogwarts hasn’t been specified in Hogwarts: A history?”

“Hermione…”

And that, in reality, Urg the Unclean was behind the Goblin Rebellion of 1612?”

“Hermione…”

“The subject ‘Muggle studies’ was introduced by Davlin Fortescue, and he was killed by being sit on by a Muggle horse?”

Just as she was about to spout the next fact, she was cut off by Toms lips crashing on top of hers. She panicked further.

“And that Ollivander’s-“

“Hermione.”

She looked at him. He was staring at her with a strange expression on his face.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but shut up.”

She nodded, and then looked at him beseechingly.

 “Well, how exactly am I supposed to think up of facts that Tom Riddle wouldn’t know?”

He shrugged.

“I didn’t ask you to think up of facts.”

He reached into a pocket in his robes and pulled out a bar of chocolate. Getting rid of the Honeyduke’s wrapping, he snapped off two pieces, and offered one to her.

“Thank you.” She took one of the pieces.

He stuck the other in his mouth.

“Why do you … do that?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

Hermione stopped talking by cramming her mouth full of the sticky treat. Did he actually…? No, she was probably dreaming.

Just to be sure, she moved closer to tom. He only responded by putting a hand around her shoulders. She closed her eyes, and tried not to concentrate on the fireplace in front of her. The lit fire seemed to be writhing with snakes.

For some reason, beside her, Tom smiled.

 


End file.
